


Because I Miss You

by YumYumPM



Series: Because I Miss You [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon comes home from a vacation to find that his partner no longer works for U.N.C.L.E.  Just what will he do to get him back?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Because I Miss You

**The Because I Miss You Affair**   
_YumYumPM_   
_Originally written for Kuryakin Files 23_   
_revised_

Napoleon Solo was whistling as he descended down the stairs to Del Floria’s Tailor Shop. Two weeks away from grey steel corridors had a way of rejuvenating a man. Winking as he tossed a salute to the man behind the counter and entered the dressing cubicle, turning the hanger that took him into UNCLE headquarters.

“How was your vacation, Napoleon?” The dark-haired beauty at the receptionist desk smiled as she leaned forward to ask conspiratorially.

“Absolutely wonderful, my dear,” the suave agent replied as he took her hand to bestow a kiss on it. Two weeks in the Bahamas had left the agent well rested and tan. Wine, women, beaches, women, restaurants, women - what more could a man ask for?

“Is Illya in yet?” Napoleon asked. One of the perks was being able to gloat about the fun he had while his partner had to work.

“Mr. Waverly asked to see you as soon as you got here,” she said as she took her hand back. She hoped he didn’t notice that she hadn’t answered his question.

“Can it possibly wait till I get a cup of coffee?” Napoleon asked with a frown as he leaning over for her to fasten his badge to his jacket.

“I’m afraid not,” she apologized, her hand lingering just a moment longer than was necessary on his lapel before handing him a stack of messages that had accumulated while he was gone.

Solo gave her a roguish smile before he entered the main corridor heading straight for the elevator that would take him to Mr. Waverly’s office. He absentmindedly read his messages. Jessica, Amanda, Monique, Susan. Putting them away in a pocket, he stopped at the door to straighten his tie before continuing into the office and headed for his usual chair. He assumed that his partner would already be waiting for him and he’d have a chance to regal him with how much he’d enjoyed his time away for the steel walled world they worked in.

He was somewhat surprised to find his partner not only not there, but another man seated in Illya’s usual chair. He glanced at the man, noting that he was tall and thin, and his hair cut in a crew cut so short you couldn’t tell what color it actually was in stark contrast to Illya’s own long blond locks.

Napoleon was halfway seated when Alexander Waverly announced with an absentminded wave of his hand toward the other man seated at the round table. “Mr. Solo, I would like you to meet your new partner, Jack Standish.” .

“New partner? What’s the matter with my old one?” Caught by surprised, Napoleon poised just above the seat of his chair.

“I’m sorry to say Mr. Kuryakin is no longer with us,” Waverly’s reply was blunt and he was avoiding eye contact.

“Ah, I’m sorry, sir. Perhaps I didn’t hear you correctly,” Napoleon was beginning to develop a sense of alarm “You can’t possibly mean…?”

“No, No nothing like that.” Waverly waved his pipe contritely, finally making eye contact. “Mr. Kuryakin was recalled by his government.”

“When?” Napoleon was feeling as if he’d been pole axed. Recalled? There was no sign of any such action taking place when he left. In point of fact they’d never actually discussed what would happen should his government recall Illya; indeed Napoleon had assumed after all this time that it would never happen. The two men had worked together a long time and to suddenly come back to find Illya gone was mind-boggling.

Waverly at least had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “Three days ago.”

“And you let him go?” Napoleon asked with a certain amount of outrage. After all, Illya wasn’t just any agent, he was one of the best UNCLE had. His knowledge of languages alone made him a valuable asset, not to mention his abilities in the lab and his remarkable talent with disguises. Plus he was a darn good pick-pocket.

“We had no choice,” Mr. Waverly stated firmly his tone leaving no doubt that the subject was closed. He had no intention of discussing this especially in front of another agent. The orders had arrived and stated in no uncertain terms that one Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin was to return to the Soviet Union without delay. “That will be enough about Mr. Kuryakin. You and Mr. Standish have an assignment.” He then proceeded to outline the assignment as Napoleon tried to reign in his emotions. However, he had difficulty concentrating on what his superior was saying. He was also having trouble understanding the reason why his partner and best friend had been recalled not to mention why nobody had thought enough to notify him of the fact. Wasn’t he Chief Enforcement Agent after all?

“That will be all, gentlemen,” Mr. Waverly finished as he closed the folder, sending it around to stop in front of his chief enforcement agent. He watched with concern as Solo picked up the folder and both agents got up to leave. Damnable business this, he thought. He hoped the feelers he had sent out to find what was behind the recall would turn up something soon. He’d always felt that agents who worked as closely as those two did should not be friends. He shook his head with disapproval before turning back to other matters.

Jack Standish followed his new partner out of the room. He’d been watching Solo and was rather surprised that he had shown such concern about Kuryakin’s recall. He’d heard the Russian was good, but he was smugly confident that soon Solo would see the he was a far better partner than the Russian had ever been and forget all about Kuryakin. Standish looked to the senior agent and said with faked sympathy. “Sorry to hear about Kuryakin, Solo, but I’m sure you’ll find me an excellent replacement.”

With a look of thinly disguised disgust Napoleon headed for his office with the unfortunate Standish in tow. It was bad enough that Illya was gone, but this guy seemed to have a high opinion of himself. It didn’t help matters that he stood four inches taller than Solo and had the irritating misfortune to talk through his nose. Had he cared to check, Napoleon would have learned that Standish had just transferred in from the west coast and was highly experienced. Not that it would have mattered.

Solo kept walking as Standish started to enter Kuryakin’s office. He stopped surprised to find a work crew in the process of cleaning it out.

“Hold on here,” Solo ordered as he saw what was happening. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

The two workmen looked at each other before turning toward Standish to take their cue from him.

“Mr. Waverly ordered Kuryakin’s things removed. This is now my office,” Standish said matter-of-factly.

“I don’t give a damn what Waverly ordered,” Napoleon countered angrily. “Nobody clears this office but me.”

The workmen shrugged. It made no difference to them who cleared the space out just so long as it was cleared.

Napoleon hesitated before entering the room. He was still having difficulty accepting the fact Illya was gone, and once he entered it would make the fact final.

“Would you like some help?” Standish offered.

Napoleon looked at him in surprise, having already forgotten he was there. “No….no, I’d rather do this alone.” He waited for the men to leave before moving to the desk to empty it of any personal items that might have been left behind. As he sat down his eye caught sight of an envelope addressed to him in his partner’s familiar handwriting. He was hesitant to open it. Picking up a letter opener he slit the envelope and slowly removed the letter within.

_Napoleon,_

_I’m truly sorry not to have had a chance to say goodbye, but it is undoubtedly for the best._   
_You know that I’ve enjoyed our years working together and how much I value our friendship._

_Farewell my friend,_   
_Illya N. Kuryakin_

Napoleon crumpled the letter in his hand more than a little angry with his partner. “Damn you, Illya,” he muttered. “How could you let them do this to you…to us.” He’d only been away for two weeks and look what happened; Illya obviously couldn’t be trusted on his own. Appreciation for the way the Russian agent’s devious mind worked made working with anyone else unacceptable.

Since they’d never discussed this possibility, somehow Napoleon had the idea that he’d never see his partner again, at least not alive. The suddenness of the summons would have been disquieting at anytime, but why now? He considered all the possible reasons that his partner might be recalled for, but nothing serious came to mind. For some reason this reminded him of the time his friend had been left to die on an island during The Concrete Overcoat Affair if not for a last minute rescue on his part and his chest tightened. A last minute rescue! It was minutes before he was aware of a knock at the door.

Mandy Stevenson paused outside the doorway before knocking. She looked in to see Napoleon sitting, looking so alone and lost that her heart went out to him. “Hi, Napoleon,” she said softly as she entered the room. “I’m really sorry about Illya.”

Napoleon cleared his throat. “Thanks, Mandy.” Geez, everyone knows but me. Great.

“I thought you might want to see this...” she continued sympathetically as she hesitantly passed him a folder containing a copy of Illya’s recall orders. Even though she worked in translations, she knew enough about their partnership to know that Napoleon would want whatever information there was on this. Besides hadn’t Napoleon gone out of his way to let her have her own little bit of adventure? He hadn’t had to do that.

Without saying a word Napoleon took it and just sat there staring at the folder. “If there is anything I can do?” she asked timidly before preparing to leave.

“Mandy,” he called to her causing her to turn back. “Does anyone have any idea what’s behind this?” He went through the folder as he spoke.

Mandy shook her head. “It came as a complete surprise. I don’t think even Illya was expecting it. One minute he was here.” She waved her hand around the office. “Then poof he was gone.”

“Why didn’t anyone get in touch with me?” Napoleon asked angrily.

Mandy bit her lip before replying, “Illya asked us not to. He said he didn’t want to spoil your vacation.”

Napoleon leaned back in astonishment. Not spoil his vacation? He was the chief enforcement agent. Hadn’t Illya even realized what coming back to this could possibly….no of course not? Shaking his head, he gave Mandy a rueful smile. “Thanks,” he said.

He was sitting there reading its contents when Standish returned. “Might I have my desk now?” the agent asked peevishly as he stood in front of the desk.

Napoleon pulled himself together and got out of the chair. “Sure. It’s all yours.” He left the room holding two folders in one hand and the crumpled letter in the other.

“Solo, don’t you think we should discuss the mission?” Standish called after him.

Stopping and turning to face the man who could never replace Illya, he snapped, “Not now.” And finished with thinking, not ever. When he made it to his own office he took a deep breath and again opened the folder with Illya’s orders in it. Coming to terms with this was harder than he expected. He glanced down at the crumbled piece of paper he still held and carefully flattened it.

He stared at the folder for several minutes before putting the letter carefully away in his desk drawer. He opened the second folder that held the briefing that he should have been listening to while in Waverly’s office. As he read the contents, his attitude took a turn for the better, and a slow smile passed over his face. He reopened the folder with Illya’s travel orders in it and couldn’t help but notice that his new assignment would take him fairly close to the location where Illya had been ordered to when recalled.

Standish arrived at Solo’s office twenty minutes later, having picked up their plane tickets. “We leave in two hours, are you ready?”

Napoleon gave him a huge smile as he got up from behind his desk. “I’ll be right with you; I just have a few little things to take care of.” Had Standish any sense he would have been scared.

 

Napoleon pulled up the collar of his dark trench coat as he stepped off the train at Vilnius in Lithuania. Turning right he headed through the Old Town, painfully aware of its dilapidated condition. Burned out windows, crumbling shutters, and cracked plaster cried out for millions of dollars’ worth of restoration. Mandy had been as good as her word and he had no trouble at all in finding the building where Illya was presently located. He had ducked through archways and into courtyards before finally making his way to the former KGB prison. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but this wasn’t it. The fact that it was now a museum was slightly ironic, as well as the fact that Illya was now in charge of it.

Upon entering the building he went to the receptionist, a rather mousy young woman, and asked in halting Russian, “Vi gavaritye pa angliski?” He had never bothered to learn more than rudimentary Russian, seeing as when he had Illya for a partner he hadn’t needed to.

“Da. How may I help you?” she asked in stilted English.

Before he could answer that, a blond-haired man dressed in a rather stiff uniform stepped out of the office behind her. He wasn’t paying any attention as he dropped the folder he was carrying on her desk and turned away.

Napoleon stood there rocking back and forth on his heels and toes. “Hi there.”

Illya stopped dead in his tracks and turned around at the sound of the familiar voice, his face split into a grin. “Napoleon! Come in, come in,” he said as he ushered Napoleon into his office.

Napoleon looked around, taking in the bare walls and the 40-watt light bulb that hung down from the ceiling. He appeared completely fascinated by the light and turned to cast a questioning eye at the slight blond.

Illya looked at him with amusement. Being under scrutiny was a way of life here. “You get used to it after a while,” he said with a shrug. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Not nearly as surprised as I was when I got back from vacation and found you were gone,” Solo replied, his voice held some of the bitterness he was feeling. “You realize of course that I’d been thinking the worst and here I find you some sort of desk jockey.”

“You didn’t know?” Illya waved him toward a chair.

Napoleon took off his jacket and sat down in an uncomfortable chair before continuing sarcastically, “Evidently no one felt it was important enough to inform me. I found out when I was introduced to my new partner.”

Illya cocked an eyebrow at him. “So soon?” he murmured. “Where is he, or is it a she?”

“He is back at the hotel in Helsinki suffering from a severe hangover,” Napoleon replied rather smugly. “He evidently hasn’t had experience drinking Vodka. So how is life treating you, Tovarish?”

“Not bad,” Illya said shortly. “Why have you come here, Napoleon?”

“Well, I happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I’d buy you lunch.”

Once they were outside in the cold air, both men pulled their coats tighter around them as they set off down the road. “Where are we going?” Napoleon asked.

Illya gave the American a sideways glance. “I thought we might go up to Castle Hill. There is a tower with a magnificent view of beautiful Vilnius.”

Napoleon snickered. “Just what I always wanted to see.”

Illya’s eyes crinkled with amusement as the two men continued their walk and, as they arrived at the top of the tower, Illya inquired somewhat hesitantly, “Should I ask again why you are here?”

“Probably not. In all truthfulness I’m not quite sure myself.” Napoleon stared intently at the blond Russian. “How are you….really?”

“Bored,” Illya said with a shrug as he turned away to take in the view below.

“Okay, who did you piss off to get sent here?” Napoleon asked wryly as he wondered how Illya could be so acceptant of this. There were many things he’d missed about his partner; his caustic wit, his strange sense of humor, his intelligence…his wallet. He even missed the bantering and the bickering, and the feeling of being able to count on him in a pinch.

“I wish I knew,” Illya replied with a brittle laugh. “Will you be able to stay long?”

Napoleon shook his head. “No, I need to head back soon and collect what’s-his-name.”

“What’s-his-name? Hardly professional of you not to remember,” Illya stated as he let out a chuckle.

“He’s not very memorable though he seems to think he is.”

Despite the coldness of the weather, the two men walked slowly back down toward the train station. They stopped at a tavern to eat and talked for quite a while of inconsequential matters before going their separate ways - Illya back to his boring office job and Napoleon to catch a train.

mfu

One month later Solo had managed to through three more partners. No one seemed able to live up to Solo’s standard of excellence. Waverly had finally given in and now Napoleon was truly a solo agent. But, that was no reason to cut his senior agent any slack.

“It’s absolutely imperative that we get those plans back, Mr. Solo,” Alexander Waverly ordered in his usual brusque way.

Napoleon leaned forward in his chair and considered his options before playing his ace. “I’ll need Illya.” He’d gone over all the information they had and found several instances where Illya’s expertise could prove invaluable.

The old man sighed heavily. They’d had this conversation before. “You know perfectly well, Mr. Solo, that Mr. Kuryakin is unavailable.”

“Yes.” Solo nodded his agreement. “However, I can’t do this without him.” This was not strictly true, it wasn’t that he couldn’t do this alone, but why bother. Working with the Russian he’d gotten used to not having to second-guess him. Illya knew exactly how he thought and acted accordingly, no explanations were ever necessary. Their mission successes were a testimony to that.

Waverly had never liked being cornered and he scowled as he said abruptly, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Solo, with great difficulty, kept the smile of victory off of his face.

 

Twenty-four hours later Napoleon Solo was standing by watching as passengers disembarked at Kennedy airport. He relaxed visibly when he spotted a certain blond-haired Russian dressed in black walking toward him. As Illya stopped in front of him, Napoleon said matter-of-factly, “It took you long enough.”

“It’s good to see you too. Now can someone please tell me why I am here?” Illya demanded sternly, though the corners of his mouth threatened to curl up in a smile.

“Not now. We have another plane to catch and I have everything we’ll need right here,” Napoleon responded as he tapped the inside pocket of his jacket. “Shall we?”

“Shouldn’t I be debriefed? I can’t see my returning as if nothing’s happened.”

“Sorry, there’s no time. Waverly said this was imperative, and you know what that means.”

“He wants it done yesterday.” Ever the pragmatist Illya simply shrugged and again picked up his suitcase to follow his partner. His eyebrows went up as he noted their destination. However, Napoleon still refused to fill him in. Every time Illya would go to broach the subject, Napoleon would bring a finger to his lips as he smiled and shook his head.

They arrived at their destination and checked into their room. Once the bellhop left, the two men worked with their usual efficiency checking out the room for listening devices and any other surprises that might be in store for them. This is what Napoleon had been missing, someone who knew how he thought, someone dependable that he could trust to watch his back.

“Some things never change,” Illya remarked as he unpacked his suitcase upon one of the two double beds in the room.

“The budget, my dear Kuryakin, you must always remember the budget,” Napoleon said sardonically as he went over to the bar to fix them each a drink.

“Ah,” Kuryakin nodded with understanding. “Can I now know why I was sent for?” Illya asked as he took his drink.

“All in good time, my friend. All in good time. How much were you told?” Napoleon asked as he settled in the one comfortable chair in the room and put his feet up on the nearby table.

Illya went over to the window and looked down to the beach below. The view was enticing and he couldn’t help but wish that they were here for something other than an assignment. “Merely that some important plans are missing. Ah, the beautiful Cayman Islands,” he muttered wistfully as he paused before continuing. “This would seem to be an unusual place to find them.”

Napoleon cleared his throat. “I suppose it would be…if they were actually missing.”

Illya narrowed his eyes and turned his scathing gaze on him. “And just what does that mean?”

“It means, my friend,” Napoleon said as he finished his drink. “That we will enjoy ourselves for…oh say, seventy-two hours, before we produce the plans, saving the world yet again,” he finished as he got up to refresh his drink.

Illya turned his head, following Napoleon with his gaze. “Do we know where the plans are?”

Napoleon saluted Illya with his glass. “Actually, we do.”

Illya pondered that before asking. “We do? How do we know this?

“We know because I’ve already found them.”

“You what! You can’t be serious,” Illya said in shocked surprise. Then as he thought about it further. “Then why did you need me?”

Staring down into his drink, Napoleon considered his reply. “I didn’t ‘need’ you. It was just the only way I could think of to get you back. I figured we could enjoy ourselves and then after a few days I’ll return them.”

Illya shook his head with annoyance. “Then what? They’ll only send me back, you know.”

“Well, I have a couple of other operations in the works that will definitely require your special skills,” Napoleon said serenely as he sipped his drink.

Illya looked at him with disbelief. “For what purpose? Besides…someone will surely catch on and then where will you be?”

“I guess I’ll just cross that bridge when I get to it.” Napoleon shrugged, then leaned back in his chair, his feet propped up on the coffee table looking unconcerned. “By then it will have accomplished its purpose.”

“Which is?”

“To buy you time.”

“To do what?”

Napoleon dropped the bombshell. “To become an American, British, or Canadian citizen. Whichever you prefer.”

There was shocked silence for a time. Illya looked at his partner as if he was crazy. He would in all probability never be allowed to enter Russia again. “Do you realize what you are asking?”

Napoleon looked at his friend before saying softly, “I think I do. But it’s the only way. It wouldn’t change who you are. Nothing could do that.”

“I might never be allowed to go back,” Illya said. There was always the possibility they might shoot him on sight. Defectors were discouraged rather harshly.

“No…at least not legally,” Napoleon couldn’t resist adding with a slight smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Can you honestly say you want to go back…to a desk?”

Illya’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He should have known better than to argue with Napoleon. Freedom, freedom to go where he wanted, to do what he wanted, to work once again with his partner. He glanced at the dark-haired American before quietly replying. “No.” Taking the time to think this over and get used to the idea he brought up, “This could take years.”

“Not if we get Mr. Waverly to pull strings.” Napoleon appeared to have it all planned out.

“And why would he do that?” Illya wanted to know.

“Illya, I’m surprised. You’re a very important agent; a lot of effort on my part has gone into training you. Thanks to me you are now the best, after me of course.” Napoleon positively radiated confidence.

“Napoleon, you know perfectly well I was already trained when you got me,” Illya stated letting the humor of the situation show in his eyes.

The smile on Napoleon’s face said that it would all be worth it. Illya looked intently into his partner’s eyes. “Tell me, Napoleon. Why did you go to all this trouble?”

Looking back into the questioning blue eyes Napoleon said with complete sincerity. “Because I missed you.”

The End.


	2. The Recall Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Recall Affair  
> By YumYumPM  
> 2005  
> A look at what happened from Illya's POV - Companion piece to ‘Because I Miss You’ originally in Kuryakin File 23

It was unusually quiet in the office where Illya Kuryakin, as acting CEA, sat methodically going over the files his partner left behind before going off to enjoy his two weeks vacation. Not that he begrudged Napoleon his time away. The two of them had vacationed together several times. This time, however, Illya had declined the invitation to join Napoleon in the Bahamas.

“Come on, Illya. Sun, sand and beautiful women. Do you a world of good.”

“No, thank you.” Illya had refused, his last visit there, on assignment, had been less then enjoyable leaving him with a sunburn, the peeling of which had lasted two weeks. He had vowed then never to go back unless absolutely necessary.

The intercom on his desk activated, flicking a switch Illya said, “Kuryakin here.”

“Mr. Waverly would like to see you in his office right away,” Lisa Rogers’ voice announced.

“I’ll be right there,” Illya replied. Perhaps this would be the prelude to an assignment, something to take him away from this accursed paperwork. He straightened the file he was working on and headed out the door.

mfu

Kuryakin arrived at Alexander Waverly’s office and found his chief, an air of pensiveness surrounding him, looking out the only picture window in all of U.N.C.L.E’s headquarters. Illya paused upon entering, gave a nod to his superior, and proceeded to his regular seat. There was silence in the room that was most disconcerting and a sense of unease hit him. A file folder lay upon the circular table in front of his usual chair.

Illya opened the folder; read the contents, and then he read it again. Closing the folder he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Reopening them, Illya worked hard to keep his voice calm, before insisting. “There must be some mistake.” Deep down he knew there was no mistake. The file contained a telex from the Soviet Government requesting the immediate return of one Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin.

At the touch of a hand resting on his shoulder, Illya looked up into the somber face of Alexander Waverly. “No, there is no mistake. The Soviet government has ordered that you report to the Russian consulate immediately.

“Yes, I see.” Illya strived for a calmness that would not come.

“It is most emphatic upon the subject and does not leave you time to do anything. U.N.C.L.E. will, of course, see to your apartment and ship your personal possession once you are settled, where-ever that may be.” Waverly said almost apologetically.

“Well…that would appear to be that,” Illya said with finality as he rose from his chair. Agents did what they were told, no matter how they wish otherwise. He removed his gun and communicator, which he laid on the conference table. Then standing straight and tall, he held out his hand. “It has been an honor working with you, sir.”

When the young agent was outside the door, Waverly sat down wearily. While the head of Section One couldn’t express it publicly, it pained him to lose one of his best agents in this manner. Losing an agent to death, though regrettable, was expected. Having a top agent, the likes of Kuryakin, recalled by his government was not. Waverly shook his head ruefully, not sure which option was worse.

mfu

As Illya made his way down the corridor, returning to his office, he was sure none of his colleagues could sense his unease or his growing apprehension. He cast his mind, looking for some reason, any reason, that the Soviet Government would request that he be recalled and came up blank. Entering, he sat down and stared at the files that littered his desk. They would now be someone else’s problem, and oddly he regretted that fact.

It would have been nice to be able to discuss this with Napoleon. Not that there was anything either of them could do about it. After all what sort of options did he have? None. A fact that Illya, living in the West for so long, had all but forgotten. Illya picked up a pen, the least he could was to leave a farewell note for his partner. He stared at what he had written before putting into an envelope and addressing it. There were other agents, he told himself. Napoleon would come back and be assigned a new partner. He probably wouldn’t miss Illya at all. He had just finished licking the envelope when April Dancer floated in closely followed by her partner Mark Slate.

“Illya!!!” April wailed as she plopped down in a chair. “I can’t believe it. Tell me it’s not true.”

Illya let out a mental sigh. “News travels fast around here.”

“You know how it is, old boy,” Mark said quietly.

“We can call Napoleon. I’m sure he’ll know what to do about this,” April suggested desperately.

“No!” Illya said sharply. Then more quietly. “No, I appreciate your concern, but I do not wish for Napoleon’s last days of vacation to be …”

“He’d want to know, Illya. You know that,” April argued quietly.

“Please. Promise me you will not contact him.” Illya looked at April intently. “Promise me,” he ordered.

April bit her lip, conflicted. “Oh, all right. If you’re sure that’s what you really want.”

Illya let out a deep breath. “Thank you.” It was going to be hard enough leaving as it was. Saying good-bye to Napoleon in person would be impossible. Napoleon for all his worldliness had a sentimental streak, which showed itself at the oddest times.

Illya turned to pick up his suitcase that was always kept in preparation for assignments away and found himself with an armful of April Dancer. After a quick hug, she pulled away turning her back to him. Mark Slate held out his hand, which Illya clasped. Mark nodded; unable to think of anything to say.

Moving out into the hallway, Illya was surprised to see all the personnel gathered there. As he went by the men reached out, some to shake hands, others to clasp his shoulders. All said they were sorry he was leaving. The females offering hugs and kisses. Mandy was openly weeping and he removed his handkerchief from his pocket, wiping her eyes before handing it to her.

Hardly professional of any of them, but it made him feel good. He hadn’t realized that so many would care.

At reception, he handed over his badge for the final time. Passing through the agents’ cubicle, he was surprised to find Del Floria not behind his counter but in front of it.

Del Floria held out his hand, then pulled the young agent into an embrace. “Mr. Kuryakin, you come back to us soon, yes?”

Illya was unable to answer; he knew it was a request he wouldn’t be able to honor.

mfu

Illya got out of his cab, squared his shoulders, and entered the Russian Embassy. He was immediately directed to the Adjutant Consul’s office. His heels clicked loudly as he crossed the marble flooring and walked up to the desk that guarded the doorway. The woman behind the desk appeared to be in her late fifties. Her mousy gray hair pulled back into a severe bun, her mouth a thin sliver of crimson. Her dark eyes behind thick lenses were cold. The nameplate on her desk read Olga Radakh.

“Your name please,” Her thickly accented voice requested in English.

Illya set down his suitcase and giving a slight bow, introduced himself. “Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin.”

“Papers please,” she demanded, reaching out to take the papers, her talons coated a bright red matching her lipstick.

He handed over the recall papers, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other.

She examined his papers thoroughly. “Your given name is misspelled,” she informed him severely.

It was the way his name had always been spelled. Not wanting to argue with her, he passed over his passport and his U.N.C.L.E. identification all with the same spelling.

She examined both closely. “U.N.C.L.E.? Would this be some sort of charitable organization?”

“Something of the sort,” Illya agreed. It seemed easier than trying to explain that U.N.C.L.E. stood for United Network Command for Law and Enforcement.

“The Consul is extremely busy at the moment. Please take a seat,” she ordered before going back to her work.

Illya went over and sat on a mahogany straight-backed chair. The older woman had used the word please in all her requests, but you could tell she did not mean it.

Three hours later he was still sitting and his stomach was rumbling. He got up and went to the desk. “Excuse me, but I think I will get something to eat.”

The woman stood up suddenly, slamming down her pen. “You will return to your seat until the Consul is ready to see you,” she barked.

He stood there for a moment debating whether to defy her or not. Until he found out the reason behind all this, it appeared prudent to just do as she asked, so he went back to his uncomfortable seat.

Kuryakin was just starting to doze off, when a shrill voice broke through to his consciousness. “The Consul is ready to see you now.”

Illya glanced at his watch; two more hours had passed, as he stiffly got up to follow her. He ran his fingers through his hair, and made a vain attempt at straightening his jacket, before picking up his suitcase and following to where she waited at a set of double doors. He slipped past the woman aware of her disapproving glare. He stopped, keeping his body stiffly straight, at the front of the desk.

The hawk-nosed man sitting behind the desk looked up, unimpressed by the slight blond man standing in front of him. “Here are your orders. Your flight leaves in thirty minutes,” the consul said, his cultured voice bored. “You are dismissed.”

“Ummm, sir?” Illya started, going over the orders and hoping for more details.

The consul, who had gone back to his work, glanced up irritated by the interruption. “I said you are dismissed,” he snapped.

Withholding a sigh, Illya turned away and went back to the waiting area. Two extremely large men awaited and Miss Radakh took pleasure in informing him, “These gentlemen are to escort you to your plane.”

Reluctantly Illya followed them out. The drive to the airport was made in silence. Squashed in the middle, any attempt Illya made to start a conversation was met with gruff grunts.

Reaching the airfield, the two men handed him over to the pilot of a transport. “This is the one?” The pilot asked in Russian. He waved the U.N.C.L.E. agent into the baggage section of the plane. “This is not a passenger flight. Find you someplace to sit and hang on.”

Illya tossed his luggage onto the plane, found a spot in between two large crates, and settled in for a long uncomfortable flight.

mfu

Rumpled, unshaven, and a little black and blue in spots, Illya was shown into the office of Sergia Protovnic, an old nemesis.

“So, Sergia, I would like to say it is a pleasure to see you again, but it is not.”

“You have made someone very angry, Comrade Kuryakin.” Protovnic leaned back in his chair, a truly wicked smile on his face. He did not offer Illya a seat.

“I don’t suppose you plan on telling me who?”

“I think not. It is regrettable that you cannot be assigned where you deserve to be, but your Alexander Waverly has made if abundantly clear what would happen if we tried. I was, however, given permission to do the next best thing.” Protovnic handed across a sealed envelope. He watched as Kuryakin opened it, letting loose an uproarious laugh at the look on Illya’s face as he read.

mfu

It could have been worse, Illya Kuryakin thought as he got off the train at Vilnius in Lithuania. Being curator of a museum, formerly a KGB prison, might prove dull but he could live with that. The accommodations assigned to him were tiny, however, with a little work he could make it presentable.

His first day on the job, Illya shuddered inwardly as he was guided through by ex-prisoners. He shook his head in wonder, prisoners’ cells, torture rooms, interrogation rooms, solitary confinement rooms, and a library of confiscated literature, all his to command.

They had assigned him a Russian speaking secretary. She was young and could have been attractive if she cared to be. Sure that she had been assigned to keep an eye on him, Illya kept his conduct toward her professional, wanting no emotional attachments. He was good at remaining aloof and thankful that she made it easy.

It was sad to see the state of the buildings in the surrounding area, but things were changing little by little. The city itself was fascinating, and he spent many an evening in local eating establishments listening and learning about the town’s past history. He had learned early on not to wear his uniform on these occasions. The KGB uniform still left a bad taste in the local population’s mouth. Fortunately, Illya suitcase had contained several of his favorite turtleneck sweaters and slacks, so he blended into the background.

The university had been and still was one of the finest in the country. Thankfully little had changed in that regard and Illya looked into taking classes during his infrequent off periods.

There was quite a bit to do in Vilnius, and Illya would feel a pang of regret that Napoleon was not there to share his discoveries with him. It had been made abundantly clear to him, however, that any contact with his former associates would not be permitted.

The pay was a mere pittance, but somehow Waverly had arranged for him to secretly receive supplemental money that more than made up for it. Not that he splurged, but it did help afford him some creature comforts. The weather was brisk and he was grateful for the warm coat he had been able to afford, thanks to U.N.C.L.E. He even had enough money to have two uniforms tailor made, rather then make do with the ones assigned to him.

It wasn’t long before things gradually settled into a routine. In a way it wasn’t a whole lot different from the paperwork he usually ended up doing for Napoleon. He could laugh a little at the thought that whoever had sent him here had sought to do so it as a punishment. Today was no different. Illya stepped outside his office still reading from a folder making sure all the information was correct before giving it to his secretary. He wasn’t paying any attention as he dropped the folder on her desk and turned away.

Illya heard a throat clear, then a familiar voice said, “Hi there.”

Illya stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, his face splitting into a grin, surprising his secretary who had never seen him crack a smile. “Napoleon! Come in, come in,” he said as he ushered Napoleon Solo into his office, such as it was. He watched in amusement as Napoleon looked around taking in the bare walls and the 40-watt light bulb that hung down from the ceiling.

“You get used to it after a while,” Illya said, responding to the questioning look Napoleon had given the light. Being monitored was one of the many things Illya had had to get used to again. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Not nearly as surprised as I was when I got back from vacation and found you were gone,” Solo complained. “You realize of course that I’ve been thinking the worst, and here I find you some sort of desk jockey.”

“You didn’t know?” Illya waved him toward a chair.

Napoleon took off his jacket to reply sarcastically, “Evidently no one felt it was important enough to inform me. I found out when I met my new partner.”

“So soon? How is he or is it she?” Illya murmured, he had thought at least a little more time would have elapsed before Napoleon took on a new partner.

“He is back at the hotel in Helsinki suffering from a bad hangover,” Napoleon replied rather smugly. “He evidently doesn’t know how to handle drinking Vodka. So how is life treating you, Tovarish?”

“Not bad,” Illya said, so what if it wasn’t the full truth. “Why have you come here, Napoleon?”

“Well, I happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I’d buy you lunch.” Napoleon’s wit was as sharp as ever.

Illya shook his head as he gathered up his coat to go.

Once they were outside in the cold air, both men pulled their coats tighter around them as they set off down the road. “Where are we going?” Napoleon asked.

Illya gave the American a sideways glance. “I thought we might go up to Castle Hill. There is a tower with a magnificent view of beautiful Vilnius.”

Napoleon snickered. “Just what I always wanted to see.”

Illya’s eyes crinkled with amusement as they continued their walk and as they arrived at the top of the tower Illya inquired somewhat hesitantly, “Should I ask you once again why you are here?”

“Probably not. Truthfully it’s nothing major.” Napoleon stared intently at the blond Russian. “How are you….really?”

“Bored,” Illya said with a shrug as he turned away to take in the view below. He would rather still be working for U.N.C.L.E. Though not being shot at, drugged, or knocked out was a refreshing change.

“Okay, who did you piss off to get sent here?” Napoleon asked wryly.

“I wish I knew?” Illya replied with a brittle laugh. “Will you be able to stay long?”

Napoleon shook his head. “No, I need to head back soon and collect what’s-his-name.”

“What’s-his-name? Hardly professional of you not to remember.” Illya let out a chuckle.

“He’s not very memorable, though he seems to think he is.”

In spite of the coldness of the weather the two men walked back down to the train station. Illya showed Napoleon some of his favorite spots. They stopped at a tavern to eat and talked for quite a while of inconsequential matters before going their separate ways - Illya back to his boring office job and Napoleon to catch the train.

Illya walked back into his office without a backward glance at his secretary. He knew without looking that her eyes followed him. Illya had known from the beginning that she had been assigned to monitor him and he had gone to great pains to do nothing worth reporting…until now.

Illya sat at his desk and idly contemplated coming back later, after everyone left to locate the report to see what was written. Whatever she wrote would mean trouble. It would not be difficult; he knew all her hiding places. He shrugged fatalistically. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long while, at least not since ordered to leave U.N.C.L.E. with its dangers and excitement.

Mfu

Napoleon’s unexpected visit had been both good and bad. While Illya had been glad to see his former partner, it also brought reminders of all he had left behind. The forced inactivity was trying, which was probably its intent. As the days turned into weeks, Illya threw himself into his work. There was now a complete inventory of every item in the museum. Something that had not been thoroughly done in years, if ever. New protocols were put into place for the better enjoyment of the visitors and displays updated.

After a month, Illya never the most affable of men, found himself loosing patience with the staff. The inactivity slowly driving him stir crazy. He had known he would miss the excitement. He just had not known how much. Things had gotten to the point that had he a gun, he would have been sorely tempted to use it. He was not too surprised when he received official orders in his mail pouch. He opened the document wondering where he should expect to be sent next. He was absolutely shocked when he found out.

mfu

Twenty-four hours later Illya Kuryakin stepped off the plane at John F. Kennedy Airport and looked around. He started walking, not surprised to find his dark-haired partner waiting for him. As Illya approached a smile lit the American’s face and Napoleon said matter-of-factly, “It took you long enough.”

“It’s good to see you too. Now can someone please tell me why I am here?” Illya demanded sternly, though the corners of his mouth threatened to curl up in a smile.

“Not now. We have another plane to catch and I have everything we’ll need right here,” Napoleon responded as he tapped the inside pocket of his jacket. “Shall we?”

“Shouldn’t I be debriefed? I cannot see my returning as if nothing’s happened.” The orders that Illya had received had been brief. ‘You are ordered to report to the John F. Kennedy Airport 24th June, 1969 to assist in retrieval of important documents. No further information is known at this time. Tickets enclosed.’

“Sorry, there’s no time. Waverly said this was imperative, and you know what that means.”

“He wants it done yesterday.” Ever the pragmatist Illya shrugged and again picked up his suitcase to follow Napoleon. His eyebrows went up as he noted their destination. The Caymen Islands? However, Napoleon still refused to fill him in. It irked the Russian that every time he would go to broach the subject, Napoleon would bring a finger to his lips, smile and shake his head.

They arrived at their destination and checked into their room. It was as if nothing had changed, the two men worked with their usual efficiency checking out the room for listening devices and any other surprises that might be in store for them.

“Some things never change,” Illya remarked, claiming one of the two double beds in the room to set his suitcase upon.

“The budget, my dear Kuryakin, you must always remember the budget,” Napoleon said sardonically on his way to the bar to fix them each a drink.

“Ah,” Kuryakin nodded with understanding. “Can I now know why I was sent for?” Illya asked as he took the drink offered him.

“All in good time, my friend. All in good time. How much were you told?” Napoleon asked as he settled down, hopefully to finally fill Illya in.

Illya went over to the window and looked down to the beach below. The view was extremely pleasant and he could not help but wish that they were here for something other than an assignment. “Merely that some important plans are missing. Ah, the beautiful Cayman Islands,” he muttered wistfully as he paused before turning back to the room and continuing. “This would seem to be an unusual place to find them.”

Napoleon cleared his throat. “I suppose it would be…if they were actually missing.”

Illya narrowed his eyes. “And just what does that mean?”

“It means, my friend,” Napoleon said draining his drink. “That we will enjoy ourselves for… oh say seventy-two hours before we produce the plans, saving the world yet again,” he finished as he got up to refresh his drink.

Illya turned his head, thinking he should have seen this coming, and followed Napoleon with his gaze. “Do we know where the plans are?”

Napoleon saluted Illya with his glass. “Actually, we do.”

Illya pondered that before asking. “We do? How do we know this?

“We know because I’ve already found them.”

“You what! You can’t be serious,” Illya exclaimed. Then as he thought about it further. If Napoleon already had the missing plans…? “Then why did you need me?”

Staring down into his drink, Napoleon considered his reply. “I didn’t ‘need’ you. It was just the only way I could think to get you back. I figured we could enjoy ourselves and then after a few days I’ll return them.”

Illya shook his head with annoyance. So typical of Napoleon to think everything would fall just the way he wanted it. Or that there would be no problems involved. “Then what? They’ll only send me back, you know.”

“Well, I have a couple of other operations in the works that will definitely require your special skills,” Napoleon said serenely as he sipped his drink.

Illya stared at Napoleon in disbelief. “For what purpose? Besides… someone will surely catch on and then where will you be?”

“I guess I’ll just cross that bridge when I get to it.” Napoleon shrugged, then leaned back looking unconcerned. “By then it will have accomplished its purpose.”

“Which is?”

“To buy you time.”

“To do what?”

When Napoleon spoke, it was as if a bombshell had been dropped. “To become an American, British, or Canadian citizen. Which-ever you prefer.”

There was shocked silence for a time. Illya looked at Napoleon wondering when he had taken leave of his senses. To defect? He, of course, had thought of it though never seriously. If he did he would in all probability never be allowed to enter Russia again. “Do you realize what you are asking?”

Napoleon answered softly, “I think I do. But it’s the only way. It wouldn’t change who you are.”

“I might never be allowed to go back,” Illya spoke to himself. His mind found it difficult to accept the possibility. The arrogance of Napoleon, to think this plan could be so simple. He didn’t see the obstacles that it would present. But then that might be why Napoleon’s plans so often succeeded. If he were to do so his government would without a doubt issue orders for him to be shot on sight, to discourage anyone who might also try to defect.

“No…at least not legally,” Napoleon couldn’t resist adding with a slight smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Can you honestly say you want to go back…to a desk?”

Illya’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He should have known better than to argue with Napoleon. Freedom, freedom to go as he wished, to go where he wanted, to work once again with his partner. He glanced at the dark-haired American before quietly replying, “No.” Taking the time to think this through and get used to the idea he brought up, “This could take years.”

“Not if we get Waverly to pull strings.” Napoleon appeared to have it all planned out.

“And why would he do that?” Illya was curious to know.

“Illya, I’m surprised. You’re a very important agent; a lot of effort on my part has gone into training you. Thanks to me you are now the best, after me of course.” Napoleon positively radiated confidence.

“Napoleon, you know perfectly well I was already trained when you got me,” Illya stated letting the humor of the situation show in his eyes.

The smile on Napoleon’s face said that it would all be worth it. Illya looked intently into his partner’s eyes; he had to know why his friend had gone to all this trouble, just for him. “Tell me, Napoleon. Why did you go to all this trouble?”

Looking back into the questioning blue eyes Napoleon said with complete sincerity. “Because I missed you.”

Illya shook his head. In spite of Napoleon’s arrogance and displaced naiveté, Illya had missed him as well. He knew there was more to it than that and he would find out just what eventually. If their positions had been reversed would he have gone to such lengths for Napoleon? The answer was simple. Like a shot.

The End.


End file.
